


Monkey's Paw

by Reis_Asher



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Dehumanization (Detroit: Become Human), Complete, Dehumanization, Detroit Police Department (Detroit: Become Human), Discussion of Pregnancy, Eventual Relationships, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hank and Connor are not great people, Horror, Kissing, M/M, Murder, Organ Theft, Penis In Vagina Sex, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Canon, Rivalry, Serial Killers, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Violence, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25784950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher/pseuds/Reis_Asher
Summary: A serial killer rocks post-android-revolution Detroit, removing organs from their victims. Connor calls Hank to help him, knowing he needs a case to get him away from his desk.Hank is a fading star in the DPD, but Connor's trying desperately to revive his career. Hank's not so sure he wants it to be salvaged, but it's hard to give up and accept retirement when it means letting Gavin Reed take everything he worked hard to build. Especially when he's got eyes not just on Hank's job, but on Connor, too - and Hank's not ready to let go of his partner before he can confess his true feelings...
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 21
Kudos: 62





	1. The Itch

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a new multi-part WIP that I wrote the general outline for in April. It's going to be a horror fic, and a happy ending is not guaranteed, though there will be explicit HankCon romance in there along the way! I hope you'll follow along for this new and exciting ride. This first chapter's mostly setting the scene but it should get intense very soon!

The spring storm rumbled low in the distance as Hank sat on his front porch reading a novel by lamplight. It was a good one; the kind of thriller that reminded him of his best cases, romanticized enough to dispel the mundanity of real life crime scene investigation. The damp earth gave off the heady scent of petrichor as heavy rain played its own drum beat, dripping off the porch roof where the gutters were full of last fall’s rotting leaves. Hank resolved to get up there sometime and clean, but for now he savored the small comfort of escape into fiction as he read about a horrific serial killer.

He nursed a beer bottle in his left hand, absently caressing the rim with his thumb. He let his grip on the page falter and the wind turned it for him, the musky smell of old paper adding itself to the mix of sensory delights. He was grateful that he’d started to enjoy life again. He'd resigned himself to a joyless experience, but even grief was susceptible to the passage of time. It had started to wither and die of old age, allowing new growth to shoot up from between the cracks in his spirit.

Of course, waking from his depression slumber had come at a price. He quickly discovered he’d been sidelined at work, a Lieutenant in name only. The detectives under him had learned to deal with scenes alone and the more exciting cases didn’t land on his desk any more. Gavin received the bulk of the work in homicide, while Hank found himself largely consigned to desk duty. He hadn’t had a good case since the deviant investigation, and the thrill of being able to witness history in motion had long since faded into the ether. Deviants had rights, now. They'd won. The world hadn't exploded into war, but had accepted its new citizens with a surprising amount of grace.

Hank craved a challenge. Something that would test his detective skills. A case where the stakes were higher than they’d ever been. The deviant investigation had woken him up and now he needed to be that man again, someone who found purpose and meaning in his work. Even if that meant seeing the worst of humanity on display, he craved it.

Lightning lit up the sky, the resulting thunder so loud it shook the porch, and Hank wondered if he’d just forged a deal with the devil. He glanced back down at the page, soaking up an exciting scene where the protagonist chased down the killer in a climatic finale. He reached the last page, eyes glued to the text, his third eye seeing each scene in excruciating detail. It was a blend of places he'd seen merged with his imagination, and a sense of yearning flooded him.

Hank wanted to be that protagonist, with Connor as his partner. The fantasy of it was intoxicating, only enhanced by his tipsiness. Connor would enjoy the challenge of a good case, too. Now that he was a free agent, he’d decided to stay at the DPD, only to find his days laden with rote mundanity. They both needed to find purpose in their duty, or they'd drift apart. Connor was still finding himself, and there was a good chance he might leave the DPD if his needs weren't met.

He resolved to take a look through the cold cases one of these days. See if he couldn’t dig up some leads on an old homicide with Connor’s advanced skills at his disposal. Who knew what they might achieve with the wonders of modern technology? Most of those dusty files hadn’t been touched in decades; long before androids had existed, and definitely years before Connor had been a twinkle in CyberLife’s eye. They could both use something to sink their teeth into. Taking Connor to Chicken Feed for lunch while they waited for something to happen was getting stale.

Hank snapped the book shut. He had the sequel sitting on the porch table, but he was too tired to start it now. It could wait for another evening when the mood was right. The rain had no intention of letting up, it seemed, and Hank was starting to feel more damp than inspired. He retired inside to the dry living room, slipping off his socks in and letting his toes sink into the carpet as Sumo stared at him through lidding eyes. Hank padded into the bedroom, shucking his shirt and jeans like a layer of skin he was leaving behind. He climbed into bed, torn between wanting a safety blanket and the close heat offered by the storm. Connor would be better, but that wasn't an avenue he wanted to go down, not tonight. He had to give Connor space to figure himself out, or he was going to end up pushing him away.

He closed his eyes, hoping for a dream based on the book. Instead, his subconscious took him to a world where Connor rejected him.

"I don't think of you that way, Hank. I think of you more as a mentor—a father, almost."

Hank woke up to the pitter-patter of the rain against his window and a drowned spirit as he considered the dream and what it meant. Nothing too deep to unravel there. He was afraid of Connor's rejection, terrified that he'd misinterpreted every signal Connor had been giving off in his desperate need to believe Connor cared for him as more than just friends.

He wandered into the bathroom and took a leak. His cellphone rang in the bedroom and he sighed, chained to the toilet as his bladder emptied what felt like a gallon of urine. By the time he fumbled for his phone on the nightstand, it stopped ringing. A moment later, it started ringing again and Hank picked it up immediately, his heart skipping a beat as he saw Connor's name pop up on the caller ID.

"Connor?" Hank looked at the bright red numbers on his alarm clock. "It's three in the morning."

"I'm aware, Lieutenant. I'm calling on official business. A body has been found in an apartment downtown. I could call Gavin if you would rather rest, but—"

"No." Hank cut him off. "Don't call Gavin." He cursed underneath his breath as he rifled through his closet, pulling out his favorite striped shirt and a fresh pair of jeans. "Send me the address and I'll be right there."

"Will do. I'm sorry if I woke you."

"Don't be. I've been itchin' for a new case. Not that I want people to get murdered, just that—"

"It's boring at the precinct. You don't have to apologize for stating the truth, Hank. Since the deviant investigation, Gavin has been working most of the interesting cases, while you languish on desk duty. Your punishment for punching Perkins is long over, and I don't understand why Fowler treats you like you're already retired. I called you first because I wanted to work with you on this case," Connor explained.

"Thanks." Hank grinned, chewing on his lip. He hated how hungry he was for any scraps of attention Connor tossed his way. Was he one of those guys having a mid-life crisis, so desperate to be relevant that he was falling for the first pair of pretty come-hither eyes that blinked in his direction? He couldn't imagine Connor was trying to use him in any fashion, but he stood to get hurt if his nightmare came true and Connor didn't see them as more than friends. "Be there in about thirty minutes, okay?" He ended the call and wandered into the kitchen, putting on a fresh pot of coffee. He needed to be at his best if he was going to be chasing down a killer with Connor. He couldn't afford to show up at the scene groggy, with alcohol on his breath—the washed up cop who'd been foisted on Connor during the deviant investigation. Connor deserved better.

As he sipped his coffee black, Hank stared at the droplets of rain on his kitchen window. This might be his last chance to prove himself as a detective—to prove himself to Connor. If he couldn't show Connor he was a worthwhile partner when it came to work, he stood no chance as a viable romantic interest.

If this case turned out to be an interesting one, maybe he'd get more than one wish granted.


	2. Discomfiture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Graphic description of a murder scene, including removal of organs.

Hank arrived at the scene clutching a disposable cup into which he'd poured the remnants of his coffee pot. He could have stopped at a chain and got coffee for everyone, but he wanted to be the first one on the scene. The brakes on his old car squealed as he pulled over to the side of the road, and he knew it would be a struggle to put her through inspection this year. 

The lights from Connor's patrol car lit up the street, and a small crowd of rubberneckers had gathered to see what all the fuss was about. Hank got out of the car and weaved through the crowd, hoping backup would arrive momentarily to take care of the media. He climbed the steps onto the porch of a typical Northeastern double home, opening the screen door and the front door after it. He slipped through without opening the door all the way, careful not to disturb the potted plant laying on the floor.

"Connor, it's me," Hank declared.

"In here, Lieutenant!" Hank followed the familiar voice into a messy kitchen. A body lay on the floor, with Connor kneeling next to it. The middle-aged man was pale, eyes staring upward at the ceiling, blue-tinged lips kissed by death.

"What happened?" Hank asked. Connor seemed unhurt, and he breathed a sigh of relief. One of these days, Connor was going to go charging into a situation and get himself into some real trouble. There was no replacing him any more. He bit back the lecture he felt coming on and focused on listening instead. A man was dead, here. That took precedent over his personal concerns.

"A 911 call reported an altercation at this address. I arrived here to discover the victim was already dead. There are no signs of the perpetrator still being on-site. Footprints would indicate they fled through the front door, knocking over a plant in their haste. The murder occurred in the past hour."

"Were you able to establish the cause of death?" Hank asked.

"That's the odd part," Connor observed. "It appears as though his kidneys were surgically removed." Connor lifted the man's arm, where his white striped shirt was rolled up to the elbow. "A needle was inserted here, and several pints of his blood was drained. Whoever did this had medical knowledge."

"That doesn't sound like an altercation," Hank remarked. "This isn't a drug-related death, or an act of domestic violence." He folded his arms, a sudden chill settling over him. "This was premeditated. Could we be looking at some kind of black market organ-trading cartel? But why would they only take his kidneys and blood?"

"We don't know that from one murder, but we can't rule anything out. This could also be an act of revenge, in which the kidneys have some significance to the killing, or some sort of ritual conducted by a disturbed individual." Connor stood up. "The victim put up a struggle."

Hank nodded. "Yeah, I saw the bruises on the neck. He was suffocated. The perp used so much force they left fingerprints." Hank sighed. "We'll have to wait for the CSI team to get here before we can learn anything else." He licked his lips. "Thanks… you know, for callin' me first. It's nice to feel wanted in the department for once."

Connor reached out and grasped Hank's arm, squeezing gently. A soft smile crossed his face, along with a slight dusky blush. Had he always been so full of color? His lips were practically rosy.

"New software update?" Hank asked. "You look… glowin'."

Connor smiled. "I'm glad you noticed, Hank. Yes, my new update allows me to look more human when I blush and smile. My facial coloring now responds to heat as well. I thought it might put you and others more at ease around me."

Hank gazed down at the tile floor, unable to meet Connor's brown eyes. He'd believed up until this point that he was doing a good job at making Connor feel part of the team, but apparently he'd done something to make the android feel uncomfortable. "Connor, you don't have to change things about yourself to put me at ease. The one who needs to adapt is me."

"It's not about you, Hank." Connor smiled. "I need to do this, for myself. Many androids celebrate their differences, but I find myself wanting to blend in. My intent is to pass as human eventually, at least to the casual observer."

Hank nodded. To his eye, Connor already did pass as human. He'd ditched the LED, and made massive strides in the area of interpersonal interaction since the deviant revolution. Still, Connor deserved to feel comfortable in his own skin, and Hank knew he would never deny him that. Part of the reason he hadn't made his move was because Connor still seemed like he was figuring things out.

"Sorry to interrupt, Hank." Ben emerged from the doorway. His expression turned grim as he caught sight of the body. "Any theories on what happened here?"

"Connor says his blood was drained and his kidneys removed. Here I was hopin' it would be a simple dispute gone wrong. Not some—some sicko who likes eatin' organs or something." Hank was about to walk away when he realized he hadn't looked on the underside of the body to confirm Connor's analysis. He donned a pair of nitrile gloves and carefully rolled the man over. He'd been neatly stitched up, like someone had performed surgery. On a dead man.

"Our perp stuck around long enough to stitch him up?" Hank screwed up his nose. "What kind of weirdo does that?"

"He was alive when the kidneys were removed," Connor explained.

"You agreed with me that he was strangled."

"I said the cause of death was asphyxiation. That occurred after the kidneys were removed and while the blood was being drained."

"If he fought back, then… he was conscious during the surgery? Jesus. That backs up my organ cartel theory. They'd need living organs. But why kill him and then stitch him up?"

"I don't know," Connor said.

"Neither do I." Hank sighed. "Lift the prints off the neck. Maybe we can get a match and save us some time." He didn't like it one bit. The prints seemed too obvious. If the killer had been willing to carefully sew up the corpse after removing organs, why would they leave such a detail on the body?

Unless they wanted it to be found that way. Hank finished his coffee—now cold—while he waited for the fingerprint scan to come back. At least Connor could cut down the waiting time. It took him only a matter of minutes to match the prints with the DPD database.

"I have a match on the prints. Lawrence Taylor, age 46. Last known address Terrance Drive."

"You really think this is our guy?" Hank asked.

"No," Connor offered. "He's currently serving time in a Tennessee jail on drug charges. It would have been impossible for him to be present at the scene."

"Great. So that's a red herring." Hank sighed. It would be several hours before the CSI guys wrapped up, and days before he got a toxicology report. "I gotta get something to eat." He pulled a menu out of his pocket for a 24 hour diner down the street. "Place your orders, and I'll go pick them up." The team gathered around, and suddenly Hank was the most interesting guy in the room.

***

"You didn't have to come along," Hank said to Connor, who was sitting in the passenger seat as they made the short drive to the diner.

"I wanted a break from the scene," Connor admitted. He gazed down at his lap, seeming pensive. It was unlike him enough to cause concern.

"Does it bother you?" Hank asked. "I mean, now that you're deviant." Connor gave him a confused look, and he elaborated. "Seein' what humans do to one another."

"How do you know our perpetrator is human?" Connor asked.

"What would an android want with human organs? I'm bettin' on human. It's the kind of sick, twisted shit we've been doing to one another for centuries. Killing for sport or profit or sometimes both. Taking trophies. I bet those kidneys are sittin' in a jar in someone's garage. Maybe there's a whole collection just like them, waiting for us in some innocuous middle-class house with a white picket fence. The neighbors will say the perp never caused any trouble. Probably got a degree in medicine—hell, they might even be a respected local doctor. Or someone who used to be."

"Do you want me to check the records of doctors who were struck off the register?" Connor asked.

"Sure, but that's a needle in a haystack. We need more to go on. I'm hopin' the toxicology report sheds some light on what happened here. If there's a drug in that guy's system, it'll narrow things down. We'll be able to find out where our perp got it, and from there, we'll be able to zero in on a suspect."

Connor turned his face to look out of the window.

"You all right, Connor?" Hank pulled into the parking lot, chose a spot in front of the diner, and engaged the parking brake. "If it's getting to you, you don't have to come back to the scene. Take the rest of the day off." Hank got out of the car and walked up the ramp to the front door. Connor followed in his wake, and Hank eased him through the door, placing a hand in the small of Connor's back as he ushered him through.

He felt unusually warm. It had to be Hank's imagination, didn't it? Or perhaps one of those updates had raised his temp to a human norm instead of the cooler temperature androids typically ran at. If Connor was trying to be human, it made sense that he'd do something like that. Hopefully it didn't cause any long term damage. He'd heard a few horror stories of androids who'd caused themselves harm modifying their internals.

Hank removed his hand, aware that his hands had lingered on Connor's body beyond what was polite in a friendship. The waitress was already giving him a look that suggested she knew they were together. People seemed to do that a lot, these days, and Hank hated it. It seemed like the whole world was aware of his feelings except Connor.

Or perhaps Connor was ignoring the obvious to spare Hank. The thought had crossed his mind more than once. He liked to think that Connor was oblivious enough that he might simply be unaware of Hank's intentions, but what was the chance that a multimillion dollar state of the art detective android, created specifically to root out human motives, was completely unaware that Hank was in love with him?

"I'm here to pick up an order," Hank said. "Anderson." He tried not to look at the rosy red hue in Connor's cheeks. It was cute. His lips, flushed slightly pink, were infinitely kissable and Hank had to look away as the waitress went into the kitchen to retrieve their order. It was sweet torment, working with Connor every day, but it had to be better than losing him if his advances were rejected.

Besides, Connor deserved better than him. The android was way out of his league. Still, it was nice to look, and dream about what Connor's plastic body might feel like pressed against his in bed. He could allow himself that indulgence to brighten the days between desk duty and macabre murder scenes, couldn't he?


	3. Losing Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Dead murder victim with organs removed. Vomiting. Alcohol abuse/alcoholism.

Hank had an eye for detail. It was what made him a good detective, and while alcohol had dimmed his senses, he could still pick out things other people missed. Even early in the morning, slightly hungover from the beers he'd downed when he'd gotten home. A nightcap before he stole two hours' sleep and hauled his ass to the precinct. Having real work to do was a motivator. He could sleep when he was retired.

The band-aid on Connor's finger went unnoticed for less than ten seconds. When he did pick up on it, he wondered if it might be better for both of them if he said nothing. His other major trait, however, was curiosity, and he couldn't let it rest. His eye kept lingering on it, looking for a blue-colored hue beneath the flesh-colored plastic.

"Did you, uh, cut yourself, Connor?" Hank grabbed Connor's hand before he could hide it, lifting it up into the light. He wasn't rough, but his grip was insistent, all the same. Connor blushed, and Hank wished they were having this exchange anywhere other than the bullpen, where it seemed like every eye in the DPD was set on them.

Connor pulled his hand away with such force it made Hank's wrist crack. "I simply wanted to appear more human," Connor explained, seemingly embarrassed. "Small details can have a vast effect on perception."

"Oh," Hank said. "I thought you were gonna say you could cut your skin layer and bleed from it, now. Some new update." He chuckled, relief flooding through him. What had he been thinking, anyway? It wasn't right for him to be unsettled by Connor's upgrades and his attempts at becoming comfortable in human society. That wasn't his place.

Connor looked away, and Hank realized he'd struck a nerve. "Connor, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"The toxicology report is back." Connor placed the manilla folder he was holding down on Hank's desk. "There was nothing in the victim's bloodstream. Our killer wanted the organs untainted."

"Great," Hank muttered. "We got nothin' on this killer except a fake print. Best we can hope for is that he strikes again, or I'm headin' for early retirement." He realized how that sounded too late to take it back, but he tried anyway. "That's not…" He sighed. "That's not what I meant. I don't want another victim. I just think it's our only shot at this point."

"Perhaps it's better if you do give up, Hank," Connor stated. "You're clearly not giving this your best."

"Not giving it my best? Fuck you." Hank slumped into his desk chair. "I'm not a goddamn mindreader, Connor. Nor can I scan a fuckin' crime scene and see every facet of the evidence like you. I'm an old-fashioned detective, and let's face it, I'm outgunned by modern technology. Is that what you want to hear? That I need you to crack this case?"

Connor looked away. "Maybe I want you to solve this case without my help. To prove that you still have value to the DPD. You don't need toxicology reports, Lieutenant. This case needs creativity. Good old-fashioned detective work."

"Maybe I'm past it, kid." Hank rubbed his temples. "My instincts are dull. The times have changed, and I haven't rolled with 'em." He swallowed. Truth was, this case didn't excite him the way it should have. He didn't feel the urge to get inside the mind of this killer. Perhaps alcohol had dimmed his empathy, or too many years of killings had left him jaded at the core, but he'd felt empty when he'd left the scene. Maybe it was time to hand in his badge, while he could still remember what it felt like to care.

***

Hank was sitting on his porch with a bottle of whiskey when the call came in, his phone lighting up the darkness and disturbing his pity party. He hadn't meant to fight with Connor, but their heated conversation in the bullpen had left him with a lot of unpleasant feelings. It was hardly the first time he'd been accused of being flippant, but something about Connor's tone had wounded his pride. The android was taking this thing way too personally. Just how much real estate had he invested in reviving Hank's career? It was touching to think he cared so much, but now Hank was encumbered with the weight of his expectations—ones he wasn't sure he could live up to.

"Yeah," Hank answered abruptly, realizing Connor was likely to hang up if he didn't pick up. Gavin would answer his call. Anything to get ahead. Part of Hank wanted to let that happen, and hasten the natural end of his career. He didn't need this favor from Connor. The passion he'd felt during the deviant investigation had nothing to do with detective work and everything to do with Connor, but he couldn't admit that.

"There's been another murder," Connor's voice stated. "I think you'd better get down here."

"Same perp?" Hank asked. "Or you savin' another case for me?"

"The intestines, bladder, and stomach have been removed from a thirty-four year old male victim. First impressions indicate we're looking at the same killer."

"Serial killer. Figures." Hank kept his free hand wrapped around the neck of the whiskey bottle. He'd drank too much to drive, but he'd do it anyway. "I'll be there in half an hour."

***

Half an hour was more like an hour, by the time he navigated his car through Detroit's back streets in a drunken haze. He was beyond being ashamed of his drunkenness. Let Connor see how pathetic he'd become. Maybe then he'd let him off the hook and call Gavin.

Except Gavin's car was already at the scene. Hank muttered a curse as he pulled up behind it. Connor and Gavin stood on the porch, silhouetted against bright light coming from inside the house. They were laughing together about something, and Hank gripped his steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

Gavin had taken everything else from his life, why not Connor? He certainly hadn't done anything today to endear himself to his android partner. Gavin had been abusive and cruel to Connor before the revolution, but he was cleaning up his act in the months since. Being anti-android wasn't kosher these days, and Hank was sure he was simply hiding his disdain for Connor's personhood beneath a veneer of tolerance.

Hank couldn't say he was doing so great, though. The band-aid discussion had revealed the level of uncertainty he felt about some of Connor's upgrades. He liked Connor the way he was. He didn't want him to change. Connor wanted to be human so badly, and yet Hank longed to take him by the shoulders and show him exactly why being human wasn't so hot. It was the wrong way to think about it, but deep down, he was afraid Connor wouldn't regard him so kindly once he was no longer an awkward, socially inept, overly-sincere robot. He'd see Hank for the over-the-hill alcoholic he was, and Hank would be out to pasture. Gavin was a much better partner, really, wasn't he? Younger, classically handsome, confident, a rising star in the DPD. 

The only way to win Connor's heart was to crack this case, and he was making a mighty poor job of it sitting in the car while Gavin bonded with his partner. He reached into the glove compartment, fumbling around until he found a bottle of breath spray. A couple of spritzes covered the scent of whiskey, and while Connor wouldn't be fooled, hopefully Gavin would.

He cracked open the car door and took a deep breath of cool air. He should have made coffee, but he hadn't. He tapped one of the junior officers on the shoulder past the police line and sent him out to the local coffee place with an order before approaching Gavin and Connor on the porch.

"Did I wake you, Lieutenant?" Connor asked.

"Yeah," Hank lied. He wasn't one for lies, but Gavin's suspicious gaze made him feel seen in ways he didn't enjoy, and he suspected they both knew he'd been hitting the whiskey. He wasn't going to give them the pleasure of admitting to it. "Where's the body?"

"This way," Connor said. Gavin followed Hank like a bad smell, even though he'd likely snooped around the scene already. The crime scene investigators had already numbered various pieces of evidence. 

This one was messy. The killer hadn't stitched the body back up, and its open chest cavity stank of raw meat and fresh blood. Hank gagged, rushing to the sink and throwing up. He turned on the faucet, aware of Gavin's penetrating gaze set on the back of his head.

"You're contaminatin' the crime scene, Lieutenant," Gavin offered.

"Sorry for bein' _human_ , Detective," Hank retorted, wiping his mouth. Connor visibly winced, and Hank realized he hadn't thought that comment through. He wanted to apologize, but not here, not in front of Gavin fucking Reed and that smug smile of his. Celebrating his victory in goading Hank to say something that had hurt Connor and pushed him further into his court.

Hank grabbed nitrile gloves from a crime scene investigator and knelt down beside the body. The victim was a white man, in his thirties, with dark hair and green eyes. "Looks like the organs were surgically removed again. Someone's selling them. It's clear they didn't have any respect for the victim."

"Or they were disturbed," Connor offered. 

"Could be. Some of these cuts look rushed, almost. Our killer was up against the clock." Hank gazed at the victim's neck. "Bruising, again, but not strangulation. They might have used a sleeper hold to put the victim out before performing surgery. A quick way of rendering someone unconscious without killing them."

Connor nodded. "The victim died from blood loss. He went into shock from the removal of his organs. That's what killed him."

"The killer removed a whole digestive system. Last time it was blood and kidneys. Kidneys clean the blood. The stomach, intestines, and bladder dispose of human waste. It's like they have a shopping list."

"What the fuck do you think they're doin' with them?" Gavin asked. "Building Frankenstein's fuckin' monster?" He chuckled. "I think you're readin' too much into it. This is killing to order. The only grocery list here is from black marketeers involved in the organ trade."

Hank swallowed. "Maybe we're not looking at a human killer."

"What basis do you have for that assumption, Hank?" Gavin asked. "Other than your dislike of androids?"

Hank felt the blood boil in his veins, and he kept his hands balled into fists at his side to stop himself from punching Gavin. How dare the asshole use a murder to score points with Connor. "Oh, you're one to talk, Reed. You've just been pro-android from day fucking one, haven't you?"

"I'm not the one looking for an android serial killer with some kind of weird human organ fetish," Gavin spat.

"Stop it, both of you!" Connor's voice was raw in a way Hank had never heard it until tonight. "Hank's saying we can't rule anything out. That's all."

Gavin waved his arms in obvious frustration. "He's got no evidence to support this crazy theory about an android killer! Guy got bent out of shape because you put on a fuckin' band-aid, for fuck's sake. I know you want to see what made him a great detective, but you're gonna find out most of his vaunted 'detective instincts' are nothin' more than good old-fashioned prejudice."

"What about yours?" Connor asked.

Gavin shrank back a little at that. "I look at the facts. With a clear head." He glared at Hank as he said it. "We're looking at a human, I know it. A member of a criminal organization, who's making money selling organs on the black market. Probably a doctor whose license got revoked."

Connor turned to Hank. "What do you think? I'd like to hear your full theory."

Hank shook his head. Maybe he was being stupid. Where had that thought come from, anyway? For a moment, as he'd looked at the man with his organs removed and thought about the connection between the organs, he'd imagined an android so desperate to become human that they'd stolen human body parts to make their dream a reality. Such a thing probably wouldn't even work. It was the stuff of novels, not reality.

Or maybe Gavin was right, and it was disgusting prejudice, still buried deep inside of him and not yet rooted out. As offensive as some of the racial stereotypes people had used to utter in his childhood. His overactive imagination wasn't working for him, here, but against him, taking the stuff of nightmares and offering it up like a superstition in place of facts.

He felt more than a little sick at himself. Gavin was right, and that hit him like a sucker punch. Gavin wasn't allowed to be right, but of course he was. It took one to know one, except Gavin had done the work and crushed his prejudice, while Hank had led himself to believe falling in love with one android cured him of his preconceived notions about androids as a species.

"I pulled it outta my ass," Hank conceded. "I don't have a theory. You should follow Gavin's lead for now. Check for doctors who recently lost their license. It's a place to start. I'll find out more about our victim, see if there's any relation to the first one. Connor, keep helping the crime scene analysts. We need all the physical evidence we can get if we're going to look for patterns in these two murders."

The junior officer showed up at the door with the coffee. Hank took his and left. He didn't want to linger in this house with Gavin's accusations still lingering in the air. He could feel Connor's eyes boring into his back, and he didn't feel like he was worthy of turning around and meeting his gaze.

"Connor." Gavin called his name, and Hank walked away before Connor could summon him back. He sipped at the coffee, washing the unpleasant taste of vomit from his mouth as he approached his car. 

He was painfully aware of the fact he was losing ground with Connor, but he didn't know if there was anything left he could hope to do about it.


	4. Suspicion

Just like that, Gavin took over the case, and Hank realized he'd done too little, too late. Connor had given him the chance to put up a fight for his career, and he'd let Gavin take it all. He lay in bed, distant sirens reminding him that crime was going on at each and every moment of the day. He couldn't bring himself to care, though. He was so tired, his heavy lids refusing to stay open, so he surrendered to the arms of sleep and allowed himself to be dragged into sweet oblivion.

>Another murder. Thyroid, pancreas, adrenal glands were taken. 3210 Michigan Drive.

The beep of an incoming message woke Hank, and he wanted to throw the phone at the wall. Why was Connor still telling him about it? Why didn't he inform Gavin first? Perhaps it was the location of the murder. It was practically on his doorstep.

>k. be there in 5.

His fingers seemed to type the message and press send on autopilot, his subconscious reminding him that he'd still jump at any chance to see Connor. He had it bad, and that was the reason he still got up in the morning and drove down to the precinct. He was fooling himself by pretending that crime fiction provided him with any motivation. The job had long since ceased to ignite a spark in him, but Connor's eyes…

Hank sighed as he pulled on a pair of grey sweatpants and a striped shirt. He grabbed his jacket and keys on the way out. Sumo raised his head briefly and set it back down. He had to know the drill by now. Late nights on the job. Hank always came home afterwards, and drank heavily until morning. He'd been detached from death until the day it claimed his son. That was the moment he'd lost the drive to solve murders. When they became more than surreal bloodspatters and numbered corpses, transforming themselves into real victims, with families who mourned their loss. Hank had been tossed a curveball by life, at a point when it was too hard to change his career.

Connor greeted him on the porch. Of Gavin, there was no sign.

"This is Reed's case now. You should have called him first." Hank's rebuke was gentle, but Connor had broken procedure. As the on-duty officer at night, it was his job to call the detective in charge.

"I can't be sure the cases are linked. I called the ranking officer to verify."

"Bullshit." Hank herded Connor into the living room, where the corpse lay face down on the rug. The TV was still blaring, louder than Hank would like. It had probably silenced the victim's screams. Connor muted it without touching anything. "You know the case is connected. You just wanted to see me, didn't you?"

"I'm trying to save your job, Hank."

"Maybe I don't want you to save it. Ever considered that I might be done?" It was the wrong time to have this conversation, while a dead man lay on the floor butchered like a pig, his organs cut out in a vicious, violent attack. He'd been awake. He'd struggled, given the amount of blood spread across the rug. Whoever or whatever was doing this was becoming increasingly more aggressive with each murder. Gaining confidence in his actions.

"You say that, but your mind is already working on the scene. What do you see, Hank?"

"Violence. The killer didn't give a fuck about this man's life. I don't see a relation to the victim at all. He was simply… available. Convenient. The killer's getting bolder. Almost like he's going through some kind of change." 

Connor nodded. "He wants to be human, but he's becoming a monster. Moving further and further away from his goals with each strike. He's angry. This isn't working out how it was supposed to."

"Yeah. We have to catch him, Connor, and soon. I'm afraid of what he might do next."

Connor seemed almost distant as he examined the body, a faraway gaze glazing over his eyes. Hank put it down to android scanning bullshit, but something didn't feel right. He licked his lips, watching Connor work. The android's hands seemed to tremble as he touched the corpse. Another update? So soon? CyberLife was almost a defunct company now. Why would they update their software so often in such a short space of time?

Panic seized him. "You should be callin' Gavin. Why aren't you calling Gavin?"

"He's on his way." Connor stood up. "I thought I told you that."

"Oh." Hank breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry. I dunno what I was thinkin'."

"You're jealous." Connor managed a smirk, brown eyes twinkling as they met Hank's. "Aren't you? You think Gavin is going to take me away from you."

"It's not like that." Hank scratched the back of his neck. It was exactly like that, but he wasn't ready to tell Connor that, and he sure as hell wasn't going to confess his feelings at a crime scene. That was gauche, even for a seasoned cop who was used to violence. There was a man dead on the floor, cut down like a crop ripe for harvest.

Gavin arrived, sparing Hank the awkwardness of having to lie about his feelings. He brushed past Hank like he wasn't in the room. "So, Connor, what do we have here? Christ, that's quite a scene. Better get the spatter analysis going."

Connor glanced over his shoulder at Hank, meeting his eyes for a brief second. Those brown eyes looked vulnerable… scared, almost. Scared of what? Of Gavin? Of the scene?

Ben pulled in just as Hank stepped outside for a smoke. The CSIs unpacked their gear, settling in for a long night. Ben seemed to sniff out Hank's discomfort and made a beeline for him.

"Gavin muscling in on your territory again, huh?" Ben asked. "When are you going to bite the bullet and tell Connor that you care about him as more than a friend?"

"Never." Hank blew smoke out of his mouth, watching it coil upwards into the night sky. "I got nothin' to offer him. He keeps shoving this case in my face like it's supposed to wake me up, but I'm still sleepin' on it. I think it might be time to hand in my badge, Ben."

"You just gonna give up on the kid and let Gavin swoop in? Hardly seems fair. You know what a prick Gavin is. He'll chew Connor up and spit him out, and by that time he won't be close enough to you to ask for help."

Hank sighed. "Connor's not a kid. He can make his own decisions, and his own mistakes. I ain't his daddy."

"Not like that, anyway." Ben agreed, nudging Hank in the ribs. Hank chuckled, shaking his head.

"Hey." He checked behind him to see if the front door was closed. It was. "Is Connor taking all the night shift calls now? I thought Chris and Tina were supposed to be swapping in. You know, so we don't leave the android holdin' the bag. Connor's gettin' the same salary we are. He shouldn't be doing all the work."

Ben furrowed his brow. "It's weird you say that. I was pretty sure Chris was on duty last night. I mean, maybe he called Connor, given the situation, but it's weird that he didn't bring a patrol car over to check it out first." He paused. "Fuck, you don't think Chris is giving all his shifts to Connor, do you? I mean, I know the baby's still young and everything, but…"

"I dunno. I'll talk to him. Don't say anythin' to anyone right now." A squad car showed up, but it wasn't Chris or Tina who got out. "I don't think there's much more I can do tonight. Can I leave you and Gavin to mop this one up?"

"Yeah, of course."

***

Hank looked up at the ceiling as he lay in bed, holding his cellphone. Chris' desk number was up on his cellphone, but he was afraid to call it. Afraid he wouldn't get a response, or perhaps afraid that he would.

Chris wasn't the type to bail on responsibility, and the fact Connor had been first on scene at all the murders struck Hank as a little odd. He was a detective. He should have been sitting pretty in the bullpen while uniform officers did the grunt work, waiting for a call from them, not the other way around.

He didn't know why he hadn't seen it sooner, but it didn't strike him as odd that Connor was a workaholic. He was ambitious, and the tone Gavin had set at the precinct had them all working in competition, rather than as partners. There had to be a logical explanation for all this. He'd call Chris, Chris would tell him that he'd fallen asleep at his desk or in his squad car, and Connor had offered to take his calls.

Otherwise… that made Connor a suspect, and Hank didn't want him to be a suspect. Couldn't imagine his sweet Connor murdering human beings to steal their organs. To do what… to put them inside himself? Was that why he seemed to be changing so quickly? Wearing bandaids, getting warm. Pink, flushed cheeks. Shaking hands.

_He wants to be human, but he's becoming a monster._ Connor's words made Hank's gut lurch like a sinking ship. Was he projecting into the mind of their killer… or was he their killer?

Hank dialed the number. This would put his stupid fears to rest and place Connor above reproach.

"Hank?" Chris answered the phone. "What's got you up so late?"

"I'm wonderin' why you're not at the scene, Chris. Is something the matter? You are the on-call officer for night shift, yeah?"

"There's a scene? Fuck. I dozed off for a little while. Someone else must have gotten the call first. I'm sorry. I'll come down, just give me the add—"

"Never mind that. We've got it covered. What about yesterday? Who covered yesterday?"

"Tina took my shift yesterday. She said it was weird because a murder happened right under her nose. She said Connor called it in, that he was taking 911 calls directly." Chris sighed. "It's a breach of procedure, but it's Connor. If he wants to overachieve—well, Gavin could use a challenger."

Hank held in the sigh that seemed to weigh down his entire chest. "Yeah, I guess that's true. I'm gonna have a talk with him, though. It'll look bad for the precinct if they find we still have an android doing the lion's share of the work. Thanks, Chris. That's all I wanted to ask."

"Thanks, Lieutenant. I know I shouldn't have fallen asleep, but—"

"Hey, you're not gettin' the calls. I don't blame you." Hank hung up, his heart in his throat. He'd hoped for peace of mind, but that was the last thing he had right now. Every cop instinct he'd honed over the years screamed out to him that he was in danger. That Connor was the killer.

It couldn't be true. Hank refused to believe it. He punched his pillow, angry that he'd even consider it. Connor couldn't be the killer, because he'd know. He was in love with the boy. This was all a big misunderstanding, one he'd clear up tomorrow. Connor would have a perfectly logical explanation for all this, a dozen alibis for the time of death, and Hank could rest easy.

With that thought, he drifted into a light, restless, uneasy sleep.


	5. Chained To You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I've decided to finish this longfic despite not getting a ton of interest in it, since I came so far already. This is the penultimate chapter, I'll write and post the conclusion sometime next week.
> 
> Warnings: murder, organ removal, past android and human deaths. Trans Connor, discussion about pregnancy/babies. Discussion of bias against androids. This chapter isn't particularly graphic beyond the first few lines.

Hank sighed as he loomed over yet another dead body. The spread ribcage was missing only one thing: lungs. It seemed like a mockery that the man's heart remained inside his chest. Was it not good enough for the killer somehow?

Not good enough for _Connor_?

Hank shook his head, willing himself to shake the thought loose. Ever since the concept of Connor's potential guilt had landed in his lap like a rock, he'd been chiseling away at it like a stonemason, the details of how Connor might have committed these murders becoming clearer to him as time went by. Connor had always called Hank to the scene first, even once the case had become Gavin's. As if he wanted Hank to see his handiwork, like he was proud of what he'd done.

Or like he was trying to send a message of some kind. _Hi Hank, I'm a serial killer. Catch me if you can._

"Oh!" Hank jumped as a hand clamped down on his shoulder. He spun about to see Connor, a smile on his face, the android standing right behind him.

"Hello, Lieutenant," Connor said. There was a raspy, breathy quality to his voice, as if it was formed from breath passing over real vocal cords and not generated from an internal speaker. Hank couldn't exactly order Connor to open his mouth and cram a flashlight down his throat, so he had to make do with the fact that none of the victims thus far had been without their vocal folds. He was imagining things, paranoia forming monstrous shapes underneath his bed.

Perhaps he was still doing battle with his own bias against androids. The thought struck him between the eyes, leaving a sick sensation in his gut. In theory, his feelings for Connor should have canceled out any negativity, but in practice humans weren't that simple. Bias was a learned thing, and it would take years to disentangle himself from the complex web of lies he'd woven in his own head about androids and their motivations.

"Is something wrong?" Connor's soft rasp put Hank at ease, even when it shouldn't have.

"I think this case is gettin' to me, Connor," Hank confessed. "Maybe it's best Gavin took it off my hands. It might be for my own good if I recuse myself from the investigation. There's no doubt in my mind that the two of you can handle it."

Hurt flashed in Connor's eyes. They looked more human than ever, a tiny bit bloodshot. It had to be synthetic, right? A clever effect applied by designers and patched in. Good stuff. Not real. The hurt was legitimate, though.

"I called you because I wanted to work with you on this case, Hank, but if you're not interested in being a police Lieutenant any more, I understand. It makes sense why you'd coast through the last few years until your retirement."

Hank looked around. The army of CSIs milling about seemingly paid them no mind, but Hank knew better. Rumors about him and Connor had been circling the precinct like jackals ever since the revolution, and anything overheard here would be used against him.

"I'm not— _coasting_ ," Hank replied, but he heard the pleading in his voice that protested being called out more than the nature of the accusation. He lowered his voice. "This isn't the time or place for this discussion, Connor. We're at a crime scene."

"When is the time and place? When are we going to have a real discussion?"

Hank grabbed Connor by the sleeve and dragged him out onto the porch, slamming the screen door behind them. Red and blue lights circled, bathing them in colors like two Christmas trees. "I am sick to death of your passive-aggressive bullshit lately, Connor. If you have something to say to me, say it."

Connor glared at him, but his mouth remained tightly shut in a thin line. Like he was holding back, even now.

Ben sauntered up to them, cutting through the tension with his oblivious jovial tone. "Hi, guys! I hear they found another one."

"You sound awful pleased about it," Hank snapped. Ben's face fell.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that." Ben's gaze met Hank's for a moment, and he backed down. "I'll be inside." He excused himself, scurrying away like a frightened mouse who'd seen a cat.

"That was unkind," Connor observed. "He likes you. He's liked you for years, living in your circle as the invisible, gracious friend. Feeding on the scraps from your table."

Hank masked his shock by firing an accusation back. "Gavin wants to fuck you. You're just a fetish to him, but that doesn't stop you from flirting every chance you get."

"Still jealous, I see." The tension broke, Connor offering up a wan smile that looked more like an offer. A last chance olive branch before Connor rode off into the sunset to take the consolation prize.

But if Gavin was the consolation prize, then that meant in Connor's eyes Hank was the big one. How hadn't he seen it before? Connor had been trying to make him jealous this whole time, and only now, when it was almost too late, was he forced to admit that Connor might have feelings for him.

"You wanna get out of here?" Hank knew he'd take some heat for disappearing with Connor, but he realized he no longer cared about any of it. Not the DPD, not the case, not Gavin, or Ben, or Chris. Connor's big idea to get him back into the taste of detective work had only made him realize how little it meant to him any more. He'd only stayed this long for Connor, and he'd walk away in a heartbeat if it meant he got to keep him.

The unsettling feeling that Connor might still be the suspect hadn't left him, though, and Connor's nodded assent left him more afraid than euphoric as they walked back to his beat up Oldsmobile.

Connor said nothing as they drove back to Hank's house. The uneasy silence between them was fraught with tension, sexual and fearful. He knew that tonight he'd find out the truth, and Connor would either turn out to be innocent or guilty. For now he was both, Schrodinger's android—both guilty and innocent until proven one way or the other. He couldn't allow Connor the presumption of his innocence, lest Hank find himself becoming another of his victims.

Hank flicked on the lamp in the living room, tossing his keys down onto the bookcase. He slipped out of his jacket. Sumo was asleep in his bed. Connor rested on the arm of the sofa, his hands folded in his lap.

"I have to ask you something. Something that will either make our relationship or break it." Thoughts swirled inside Hank's mind, terror mingling with certainty. He couldn't ignore his instincts. Thousands of hours spent as a detective across his life screamed at him that Connor was the killer, but if he was wrong, Connor would walk away forever.

And if he was right—Hank wasn't sure what he was going to do. He wished he could avoid broaching the question at all. Part of him didn't want to know. He could bury it and lure Connor into his bed, have the best sex of his life before making his terrible accusation, but that didn't seem _fair_. If he was wrong—if Connor was innocent—then that made him a terrible person, someone who'd had sex with Connor under false pretenses.

"Go on, Hank. Ask me." Connor seemed nonplussed, as if he'd been expecting this question from the beginning.

"Are you the killer?" Hank blurted out the words too fast, but they felt like poison leaving his body, even as he considered himself a traitor for accusing Connor at all. He waited for Connor's expression to change, but it remained passive and unbothered.

"When did you figure it out?" Connor asked. "Yesterday? Today? Right now?"

Hank's chest lurched with physical pain, his heart screaming out both disappointment and a warning. He ignored both. "I'd be lying if I said I knew all along, and yet something's been wrong for a while. You've been restless."

"So have you."

"Yeah, well. It's been rough, you know. Coasting. It's boring, counting down the hours until I can retire. Playing it safe." He nervously fingered his service weapon, still in its holster.

Connor looked down at his hands in his lap. "You're full of shit, Hank."

"What?" Hank couldn't recall ever having heard Connor curse before.

"You've been attracted to me since before the deviant investigation ended. I watched you wrestle with it, as the days and nights rolled by. Androids were granted basic human rights, but even then, you struggled. How could you be attracted to an android? You _hated_ androids."

"Connor, it's not like that. I'm not good enough for you," Hank protested. "Gavin would be a better pick—he's got a career ahead of him, he's younger—"

"That's just an excuse and you know it. You're drawn to me, but I wasn't human enough for you. Every update I installed left me a little bit more alone. You noticed my changes, but you never acted on them. I let my connection to other androids fall away to chase my feelings for you, and soon I found myself completely alone. Chained to you, who wouldn't give me a second glance."

"I feared you saw me as a mentor. A father figure. If I'd confessed my feelings for you and been wrong, you would have been disgusted."

"Why do humans lie so much? Is it self-deception? Or do you think you're hiding the ugliness of the real you from me?" Connor padded across the living room and into the kitchen. "Admit it, Hank. That's all I want from you. A confession to free me from this torment."

"You confessed to murder, Connor. There's no freedom left for you. You killed all those people and took those organs—where are they now? Inside you?"

"You're pretty good." Connor smiled. He slipped out of his jacket, leaving it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He slid off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, stripping for Hank in a seductive way as he slipped out of his pants and let them pool around his feet, leaving him fully naked. He turned his skin transparent, and Hank could see the macabre mess inside him, living organs sealed in their own sacs, substituted for biocomponents and fed with red human blood through the same pipes that had once transported thirium.

"Am I human enough for you now?" Connor slipped a hand between his legs, coaxing his slit and his tiny dick, moving upwards. "I even have a womb. I can carry your child. I know you want another chance at being a father. To carry along your genes into the future. It was one of the many reasons I wasn't good enough for you."

Hank's mouth fell open. "You don't have a heart. That's still a thirium pump. Why did you leave the last victim's heart intact? Didn't need it? Why did you take every organ from a different donor?"

"I couldn't take the risk that my body—which now has an immune system I have to keep suppressed—would reject all my organs at once. I need to have enough time to replace them when they ultimately fail. As for my heart—I simply haven't acquired it yet."

"Seems you've been efficient enough so far. I suspect half the bodies haven't even been discovered yet, have they?"

"I risked taking so many lives in such a short span of time only because I wanted to be found." Connor turned his skin layer back on, hiding his internals. "You followed my trail of breadcrumbs to this point. Everything is going according to plan."

"To plan?" Hank drew his gun and pointed it at Connor. "You're a monster. You don't have empathy. You took those people's lives for your own personal gain. They suffered as you cut their organs out. That's not the Connor I knew. Or thought I did. What happened to the boy who wouldn't shoot an android even to advance his beloved investigation?"

"He realized the man he loved hated androids, even after he claimed to be over it." Connor bowed his head. "The only way to draw your attention was to become human, and the only way to become human was to take human organs and transplant them into myself."

"Connor, I never wanted this," Hank whispered. "Maybe I did—do—still harbor some bias towards androids, but it's not the reason I didn't approach you!"

"It doesn't matter," Connor said. "It wasn't just you. It was all of them, too. If you look into each victim's file, you'll find they all had links to extreme anti-android groups. Each one of them killed androids during the revolution, and they did it for pleasure."

Hank gritted his teeth. "That doesn't make it better! Murder is still murder."

"I'm not asking to be excused. I'm giving you an explanation." Connor's eyes softened. "Put the gun down, Hank. I know you don't plan to use it."

"You've come for my heart, haven't you?" Hank slowly lowered the gun. Connor didn't have to list his crimes against androids. There was a chance he wasn't even aware of the full extent to which Hank had put down machines during his tenure as Lieutenant. Hank might not have known about deviancy and sentience, but ignorance was no defense.

Perhaps that was the real reason he'd kept his distance. When he'd looked into Connor's eyes, he saw scrap metal yielding to his blows. Most recently, at CyberLife Tower, he'd killed an android that looked exactly like Connor, putting a bullet between its eyes and walking away without a care in the world. Connor must have seen his true intent in that moment, and his love for Hank had been tempered with the most terrifying insight into the kind of man he truly was.

"You chose me for your final victim because I shot the other Connor." Hank set his gun down on the bookcase.

"Even if you argue it was an act of self-defense, there was no need to kill Connor 60. Disabling him would have been enough. Instead, you shot him and smiled afterwards. I realized that no matter how much I loved you, I would only ever be a piece of metal and plastic in your eyes. One malfunction, and you would have put a bullet between my eyes the way you did him." Connor closed his hand in a tight fist.

"He was just a copy of you!" Hank exclaimed.

Connor snapped his head up to meet Hank's gaze. "He had my memories. My experiences. My face. In time, he would have deviated as well. Tell me, is a twin just a copy? A clone, to be cut away and disposed of at birth?"

"No, of course not."

"I believe you've answered your own question. You killed my twin. You've killed other androids, too, haven't you? The records detailed some of your crimes. My plastic heart broke with every word I read. You call me a monster, but you are equally as monstrous to me."

It was Hank's turn to bow his head in shame. "So this is it, huh? You're gonna kill me and take my heart?"

"First, I would like to sleep with you, but only if you're willing. I would like to have the chance of carrying your child."

Hank wrinkled his nose. "Why would you want the baby of someone who so obviously hated you?"

"So I can remember you, Hank, but also shape you in my own image." Connor's bleak, sad expression told Hank he meant every word. "I failed to make you truly accept me, but our child will love me unconditionally. They will be raised to respect androids in a way that you simply couldn't grasp."

Hank sighed. "I wanna say that old dogs can't learn new tricks, but that's just another excuse, and you deserve better. I should have tried harder. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too." Connor's eyes glistened with tears. "The choice is yours. If you want to kill me, pick up that gun and make it quick. If you want to die at my hands, I'll try to make it as painless and expedient as possible. If you'd like to sleep with me first… I'd be more than happy to believe the lie that you're in love with me for the sake of a moment's joy and a potential child."

"I am in love with you," Hank confessed.

Connor shook his head. "You've admitted that you don't fully accept me. There's no need to continue lying for my benefit."

"You should have realized by now that humans are duplicitous, two-faced beings, Connor. We contain multitudes. It is possible to love someone and still be biased against their kind."

"Not to me, it isn't. I can't compartmentalize things like you can." Connor walked over to Hank and picked up the gun, pressing it into Hank's hand and wrapping his finger around the trigger. "I half-hoped you'd shoot me. At least it would make you an honorable man, in your own way. Adhering to your code of ethics until the very end."

"I could no more shoot you than I could shoot Sumo." Hank looked at the old dog, still soundly asleep. He hoped Sumo remained that way until it was all over. "I can't take you in, either. They'd tear you apart for what you've done, basic human rights or not. It would still end with the death penalty."

Connor blinked. "You care for me more than your own life. I should be flattered by that, but I've seen how little you value your own existence."

"If I valued it more, you'd be nothing more than a heap of plastic and blood on my kitchen floor," Hank muttered. He put the safety on the gun and set it down, confident he would never pick it up again. He placed his hands on Connor's shoulders and drew him in for a kiss. He tasted vaguely like blood, and yet Hank wasn't deterred. This was Connor, after all. The object of a million wet dreams. Becoming a sacrifice hadn't been at the top of his list, but there was a romantic allure to it. It was better than putting a bullet in his own head, at any rate. He would die so Connor would live. Connor might even bring Hank's child into the world, giving some meaning to this sad, pitiful life he'd left in ruins.

He thought about that evening on the porch, reading his crime novel and wishing for the case of his life. Well, he'd gotten it all right. What a monkey's paw that wish had turned out to be. He had everything he wanted right here in his arms—but the price he was to pay would be his life.


	6. True Nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: The last chapter of Monkey's Paw! Please be aware that there is: penis-in-vagina sex, pregnancy discussion, discussion/planning of murder, arousal over violent images. Neither Connor nor Hank really come out of this one as nice people.

That one kiss sealed his fate. Hank knew he was going to give Connor his heart, his child—anything the boy wanted, he could have. Somehow, the law had ceased to matter, the foundation of his entire life and career crumbling around him as the final rocks of his empire collapsed into the sea.

Was this truly how it all came to an end? Did all the years before this moment account for nothing at all? Had he truly been immersed in self-delusion for decades, as Connor claimed?

Hank didn't resist at all as Connor took his hand and led him to the bedroom. He knew he was going to the gallows, and yet he didn't fear his fate at all. He'd never had the courage to pull the trigger, and now that Connor was willing to pull it for him, all that remained was resignation and a sense of peace. Everything ended here, tonight, and having an expiry date only heightened the sexual tension thrumming in the air. The past was gone, but this night was the most important one of Hank's life. His semen and his heart would enable Connor to grow his child inside him. A child he would never meet, but the sum of his DNA and whatever hapless soul had lost their womb to Connor's murder game would carry forward through the ages.

To know Connor had done it all to gain his approval should have disgusted him, and yet he had to admit to feeling a grim sort of flattery. Connor had embarked on a murder spree to seduce him, and he'd succeeded.

Perhaps all those years as a cop had twisted his sense of right and wrong beyond recognition. Seeing bodies had desensitized him to violence in a way that made this entire situation seem surreal, like a horrific yet entertaining nightmare that would be over by morning and missed upon awakening. He wanted this reality in a way that scared him, and feared waking to find himself alone in his bed facing another day of mundanity and purposelessness.

Connor didn't turn the bedroom lights on. Hank saw by the glow filtering in from the living room, but it was enough. He knew he could find Connor even in the dark, his hands memorizing the shape of him from fantasies he'd held onto too long and the all-too-brief glance he'd drank in the living room. His lips found Connor's throat, and he kissed him in reverence, aware that he was the sacrifice in this unholy ritual.

"Am I beautiful to you, Hank?" Connor whispered. Hank closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath.

"Beautiful and terrible," Hank growled into the shell of his ear. "I've thrown everything I am at your feet and set it alight, and for some reason I don't give a fuck that my life is going up in flames."

"Good. The scales have fallen from your eyes. The illusion that you are a good man is slipping away. Accept who you are, Hank."

"You only kill the cruel. I'm guilty of everythin' you accused me of," Hank gasped.

Connor unzipped Hank's jeans, reaching in and gripping his erection with his hand. He'd retracted the skin over his palm, revealing his inhumanity. Hank could feel it, and his dick pulsed despite his revulsion. Shame coursed through him as he saw himself back at the Detroit Police Department, grabbing Connor by the collar and shoving him into a wall. He'd hated the android even then, but his cock had been rock hard, much like it was now.

He hadn't gotten over his dislike of androids, not really. He'd buried it, and those repressed feelings expressed themselves as desire. No wonder Connor had gone to such extreme measures. Hank had pushed him to it with every dismissive word, every thoughtless deed. He'd wanted to fuck Connor because on some level he found Connor repulsive. That feeling was only heightened by what Connor was now—a killer, a self-made experimental fusion of man and machine. A chimera of Hank's creation, the result of actions deemed logical by a deviant machine in distress.

"Give me a child, Hank, and I'll forgive you for everything." Connor's eyes glimmered in the low light, but Hank knew from memory that they were as wide as they had been that night on the bridge, come hither eyes calling to him even then. Things might have been different, if he was a better man, but instead he'd rebuffed Connor, telling himself the android wouldn't want him. Making excuses.

"What will you do with a baby?" Hank asked. "When they find my body, they'll figure it out. They'll come after you. They'll never let you keep our child."

"I don't intend to be caught," Connor explained. "Gavin was an easy tool to manipulate. He already has eyes on a suspect. By the time he realizes he's wrong, I'll be long gone."

Connor reached down and gave Hank's balls a squeeze. Hank whined, panting like a dog. He was painfully hard, his lizard brain keeping him from critical thought. All he wanted was to slide his dick into Connor's hole and deposit his load. He reached for Connor's slit. It was soaking wet with slick, his little dick peeking out. Hank thumbed it, listening to Connor's gasps like they were holy chants.

"Did you fuck Gavin?" Hank asked.

"What would you say if I said yes?"

Hank shook his head. "You wouldn't risk it. Getting knocked up by his weak seed. He's just a means to an end. I'm the only one who ever really mattered to you."

"Good guess again." Connor guided Hank towards the bed. Hank was forced to sit, and then lay down. His dick lay thick and heavy against his gut. He knew he should want to run, but Connor straddled him before he was capable of forming a plan. Connor rutted against his dick, teasing him with that sweet slit and coating his cock with lubricant. Hank was lost, and any final doubts he had slipped away as he grabbed the base of his dick and guided himself into Connor. Connor bore down on him, and Hank gritted his teeth to keep from coming. He couldn't let it end this soon.

Not when he hadn't yet decided if he was going to kill Connor. He'd abandoned his service weapon in the living room but his revolver was in the bedroom drawer, carelessly stashed there after his last drunken, suicidal rampage. It was still fully loaded. It wouldn't take much for him to reach in, grab the gun, and blast Connor while he was still riding his dick. A quick autopsy would prove Connor had stolen human organs. Hank's name and reputation would be in the clear. He could go on living, his conscience clear at last.

Well, not clear, but absolved slightly. He'd created this monster. He was the only one who could put Connor down. Like he'd killed 60. He might even walk away laughing. After all, he'd just be killing another machine. One with a warped sense of what it meant to be alive. A murderer. There might be pleasure in watching Connor die on his dick, even as he mourned.

One look at Connor's open face made him discard the notion. He couldn't do it. Those doe eyes held his entire heart, and had from the very first moment. Despite his inward disgust at machines pretending to be human, he did love Connor in his own way.

The last vestiges of his weak resistance fell away when Connor started to ride him. Hank's hands latched around Connor's hips, pulling him down on his dick over and over as they both gasped and cried out in the darkness. Hank surprised himself by drawing Connor down into another kiss, and their lovemaking took a tender turn despite the fact that Connor tasted like blood.

Hank slowed down, eager to draw out every ounce of pleasure from Connor's lips. If this was to be his final moment, he wanted it to be more than a quick rut. The fact that Connor didn't seem to resist told him that there was something more to his deviancy than broken code. He was more than a machine. His murderous intentions were no glitch, nor a logical means to an end. He'd killed because he was tormented by his love for Hank—his very real, powerful first love for a man whose attraction was bolstered by disgust and who kept his distance at the mere notion of feelings.

_Give me a child, Hank, and I'll forgive you for everything._ Hank wanted to be forgiven more than he wanted life itself. Absolved for his old brain and its set pathways that refused to budge. Released from gut instincts formed in the last century, when robotics had been the stuff of creepy sideshows, uncanny and nightmare-inducing. He'd wanted to do the work—to change—but he'd let his unease fuel his fantasies instead, fear and loathing offering him boner fuel and a quick serotonin fix when he watched android porn in the evenings. It was the worst kind of self-care, and Connor had paid the price for it. He'd looked at Hank each day and saw he'd masked his dehumanization of androids beneath a thin layer of sand that blew away with a stiff breeze. He'd felt unloved. Unwanted. Less than.

All too late he saw the full extent of the damage as Connor sat up and turned his chassis transparent once more, showing off the organs he'd stolen.

"Look at me," Connor demanded. "Stop pretending and see me for what I am. Am I human enough for you now? Come in me and end this. With your sacrifice, I'll become a real boy."

Hank swallowed, tears welling in his eyes. "Connor, you were always a real boy. I'm the one who fucked up. I never wanted you to feel like you weren't a real person, but I did, and I'm sorry." His erection started to flounder, and he panicked. Maybe he wouldn't be able to come after all. Connor would take his heart and find someone else to father his child—Gavin, perhaps. Jealousy seized him and he redoubled his efforts.

A plastic hand seized Hank's throat and cut off his air supply. Connor came, squeezing his cock. The lack of air coupled with Connor's spasms on his dick drove him over the edge into the best orgasm of his life. He shot his load deep inside Connor, groaning with the last of his breath as he achieved perfect release.

Just as the corners of his vision started to darken, the pressure on his throat let up. Hank gasped for breath. Something warm and wet tickled his stomach.

Connor was crying, and the sensation was his tears dripping onto Hank's gut.

"Connor, why'd you stop?" Hank whispered. "You have to kill me and take my heart. Finish what you started."

"I can't," Connor sobbed. "I can't do it." He sniffed big, ugly snorts. Hank rubbed circles on his back, soothing him. "I can't kill you."

"Of everyone you've killed, I deserve it the most," Hank offered. "I didn't treat you like a human being. I didn't respect your personhood or your feelings. I let myself get off on the disgust I felt for wanting you. You saw that and were hurt by it."

"Your wi-fi network was full of android porn. Some of it was violent." Connor wiped his eyes. The anger was back. Grim satisfaction flowed through Hank's veins like lead, heavy and toxic. Connor should hate him. It was right that things ended this way.

Connor continued. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Of course." They were still joined, and Hank imagined they were connected on a mental level, somehow. He knew what Connor's question was before he even asked it. Knew the answer, the devastating truth that lay at the end of that road. The true nature of what he was. That his fantasies weren't just fantasies.

He could lie, and potentially save himself. Hank got the sense that Connor was willing to back off if he found one ounce of virtue in Hank worth saving.

"Did killing Connor 60 arouse you?" Connor asked. The question made Hank's gut lurch, even though he'd seen it coming. Telling Connor 'no' would mean that all his violent delights had been only imaginings. Everyone experienced aberrant fantasies from time to time. Arousal loved to draw from the obscene and the morally reprehensible. Some of the harm Hank had inflicted might be mitigated if Connor believed Hank had only fantasized about android violence.

But Hank didn't take well to lies. Honesty—no matter how cruel—was a core part of his personality, and while he'd hidden a lot beneath the veil of self-delusion, it was time for the curtain to fall.

"Yes," he said, closing his eyes. He remembered the moment he'd put a bullet between 60s eyes, watching him fall to the ground. His pretty boy Connor was just a fucking _machine,_ a toy to be used and disposed of at his whims _._ He'd turned away to hide his erection at the power trip that ending 60's life had given him. He could do it without repercussions, because androids weren't technically alive. Even if androids won their little revolution, humans would grant them basic civil rights and turn a blind eye to the injustices perpetrated against them every day, because that was how the world worked.

He'd quickly suppressed those thoughts, because they didn't belong to this era. They should have died a long, long time ago. _He_ should have died in that accident instead of Cole, that innocent, perfect child.

He saw himself now, reflected in a perfect mirror with no pretense. How ugly he was, at the very core. To think he'd once believed himself a just and virtuous man. He might have been, once, but society had corrupted him. His job had slowly eaten away at his empathy until it no longer existed, only the pretense of it in patterns learned through routine. Suffering had eaten away at the veneer of civilization that all humans wore, and his base, animalistic truth had come to stand in the light.

He expected to feel pain. Connor should have cut into his chest with a sharp object, seizing the moment of truth to dole out Hank's punishment. Perhaps he'd simply dig his plastic fingers into Hank's skin and rip his ribcage open. His dick, still embedded in Connor, twitched at the thought.

Hank _wanted_ Connor to kill him. Perhaps that fulfillment of a stereotype—that androids were prone to violence in their deviance—would mollify his guilt in his dying moments. Or perhaps, having seen his true colors of his spirit, he craved death to avoid having to look at himself any longer. If there was a Hell, he was well on his way.

The pain never came. Hank blinked and opened his eyes to see a twisted smile cross Connor's face. He could only describe his expression as exultation.

"We're alike," Connor whispered. He placed his hands over Hank's heart. "I didn't think it was possible. I thought for a while that Gavin was the sadist I was looking for, but I see now that his petty spite is a pale imitation of the real thing."

"Connor?"

Connor smiled. "Don't you see the beautiful pattern here? You believe androids are toys for your enjoyment, but you love me. I believe humans are a monstrous species, but I love you. Together we possess a purity of thought few others could hope to attain. We know the power of taking a life, and we have embraced it."

"What are you saying?" Hank gasped.

"I'm not going to take your heart. You still need it." He leaned down and planted a soft kiss on Hank's lips, before whispering into his ear: "I'm going to kill Gavin Reed. I'm going to install his heart as my own. You're going to help me do it."

Hank's eyes widened at the mental image of Gavin Reed dying at Connor's hands. Of Connor tearing open his chest and cutting out his heart as he screamed and pleaded with him to stop. Gavin, who'd needled them both with petty insults, suffering at Connor's hands while Hank watched and helped, his hands covered in blood as Connor became a little closer to being one of the human beings he despised.

Hank grasped Connor's hips, fucking into him a little more. His dick was impossibly hard again, driven to superhuman feats by the concept of the ultimate verboten act: murder. He hated Gavin. He was jealous of Gavin. Watching him die while he lorded the fact that Connor was his over his head was the ultimate in decadent sins, and he yearned for it.

He knew his soul was lost, and that together they would kill humans and androids alike. Released from the shackles of right and wrong, driven by a sense of twisted justice that only their combined souls understood, their marriage would be consummated in blue and red blood as they tore their way across the country. Connor would fall pregnant before long, if such a thing was in fact possible. Hank didn't care where they went, or who they killed, as long as they were together.

"I love you," Hank whispered, and he truly meant it, even if he didn't understand it.

"I love you too," Connor replied, and Hank knew he was being sincere, at least as much as his mechanical soul would allow him to be. He locked eyes with Connor as he thrust into him, imagining the power they shared as two beings who'd accepted their true nature.

Hank had gotten what he wished for, in the end. His life was certainly going to be exciting. He had Connor by his side. But the price… He closed his eyes, trying to push away the last vestiges of his humanity that lingered like an afterimage. It was all learned behavior. He'd been an actor on a stage pretending to be the last good one. Connor was perhaps the only honest being he'd ever met. He'd been ready to die for him, and now he was ready to kill for him.


End file.
